


The Art of Subtlety

by FourCatProductions



Series: The Wheel, The Shield, The World [4]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Brief Dysphoria Mention, Community: skyrimkinkmeme, Face-Fucking, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Skyrim Kink Meme, Slice of Life, Snark, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 14:07:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13928664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FourCatProductions/pseuds/FourCatProductions
Summary: Discretion has never been Emory's strong suit.





	The Art of Subtlety

He didn’t mean to stare.

Well, no, scratch that. He definitely meant to stare. It was the “not getting caught” part that eluded him. Not that Nazir did anything to discourage it. If anything, he seemed amused by the whole affair. The first time, when he’d caught Emory watching him over dinner, he’d grinned meanly and said, “If that’s your idea of being sneaky, you’re going to make for a lousy assassin.”

Everyone had laughed, and he’d been mortified and vowed not to do it again, but in the end, his natural curiosity won out. Nazir had seen him hovering on several occasions since, but intriguingly, he didn’t appear to have anything to say on the matter. He’d answer with a raise of his eyebrow, or a faint smile, and then go about his business, as if Emory simply didn’t exist. It should have been infuriating, and it was, but part of him liked it, too. He’d always relished a challenge.

He was still settling into the Family. Being the newest, and youngest, member meant a steep learning curve – playing fetch, netting the worst jobs, the endless washing of dishes – but it also came with plenty of time to observe. Three months in, and he had already learned a few of their secrets: that Gabriella wanted Babette to make her a vampire, what Festus was really doing when he locked himself in his chambers to conduct his ‘experiments’, that Astrid was still in touch with an old lover in Riften, even though she told Arnbjorn she wasn’t. Secrets were better currency than septims at times, especially if you had ambitions to move up in the world, and he hoarded them jealously. But Nazir… Emory couldn’t figure him out, save that he delighted in sarcasm and was singularly unimpressed by almost everything, and the harder Emory tried to engage him, the more closed-off he became.

So yes, he stared a bit now and again. Not because he had a _crush_ , gods no, nothing quite so silly or childish. He just wanted to know what Nazir was hiding. Anyone who made that many puns definitely had something to hide.

It was the middle of the afternoon when he returned to the sanctuary, and strangely quiet. Veezara was meditating next to the waterfall in the central chamber, and he could hear Lis rustling around in her pit, but everyone else was gone. Out on contracts, he supposed. He found Nazir in his room, reading.

“I finished the job.”

“Good for you.” Nazir turned the page. “Remind me which one I assigned you again?”

“Beitild. The miner in Dawnstar.”

“Ah, yes. I hear she turned up dead in a tragic accident.” Nazir chuckled. “The mining business is extremely cutthroat. And those hours can be murder.”

Emory snorted. “That’s really why you hate Cicero, isn’t it? Competition for your awful jokes.”

“Hm. And here I was, thinking you wanted your payment. My mistake.”

“Did I say awful? I meant awe… inspiring.”

“Terrible recovery.” Nazir tossed him a coinpurse. “I’ll let it go. This time.”

“You’re too kind.”

“And you need to learn subtlety.” Nazir’s eyes hadn’t left his book, but he was smirking. “I’m amazed you’ve lasted this long.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re brazen. Obvious. The first target I give you with any combat experience will read you like a book.” Nazir thumped the cover for emphasis. There was that faint, mocking smile again. “Unless that shameless staring is reserved for me?” Emory made a rude gesture and retreated, ears hot. “I’m flattered,” Nazir called, and his laughter chased Emory down the hallway, echoing off the stone.

 _Who does he think he is?_ Emory fumed for the rest of the afternoon. He’d show Nazir that he wasn’t just some wet-behind-the-ears pup to be laughed at and kicked aside. He _would_. All he needed was a chance. He accosted the man on the way back to his room after dinner.

“Give me a tougher contract. I can handle it.”

“Oh, did I bruise your ego?” Nazir stared him down, lip curled in amusement. “I don’t have any new jobs. Try again later.”

“Bullshit.”

It was an impulsive accusation, and he regretted it as soon as it left his mouth. Nazir’s eyes gleamed, beetle-black in the dim lighting. He took a step forward. Emory took one back. Nazir kept coming, walking him up into the little alcove there in the hallway until he collided with cold stone. He was a full head taller, and when he bent forward, his breath ghosted hot against Emory’s cheek.

“You want it that badly?”

Emory swallowed, hard, and nodded. It took him a second to realize that Nazir had slipped something into his hand. His fingertips brushed Emory’s wrist, lingering over his pulse. “Ennodius Papius, ex-miller. He thinks someone has it out for him, and he’s right.” It came out as a purr, gooseflesh rippling across Emory’s skin in its wake. “Do a good job, and I’ll consider giving you a real challenge.”

Emory’s fist tightened around the scroll. “I won’t let you down.”

“You can’t,” Nazir said, stepping away. “I don’t care.”

\----------

Ennodius was, as promised, no easy target. Emory completed the job, but only just, and was left lying in the snow next to the man’s body, both of them bleeding from a dozen places. Eventually, he forced himself to get up and limped back to his horse, swollen ankle and bruised face throbbing in the cold. His ribs ached, too, but he refused to remove the bindings around his chest until he was home safe. He downed his last healing potion and clicked his tongue, spurring his mount into a trot. It wasn’t a very good potion – one of his homebrews, made hastily over a campfire – and while it took care of the superficial injuries, his deeper wounds were in excruciating pain by the time he stumbled back into the sanctuary, three days late and barely conscious. Babette scolded him while he laid in bed, head buzzing with delirium.

“Silly, why didn’t you come see me before you left? I would have made you a proper batch.” She smoothed a poultice over his nose and blackened eyes. “This looks nasty. Did he headbutt you?”

“Right off the horse,” Emory grumbled.

Babette burst into giggles. “It gets easier with time. Might I offer a suggestion?”

“What?”

“Never let them have the element of surprise. Only get that close when you’re ready to strike.” Her cool hand touched his shoulder. “And you shouldn’t bind your chest like that for such long periods of time, either. You’ll only hurt yourself.” Emory panicked and tried to sit up. She pressed him back against the bed with a strength that belied her tiny frame. “ _Relax_ , Brother dear. Your secret is safe with me.”

 _Brother_. He sunk in the pillows, uncertain. “It is?”

“Of course. We’re family.” She patted his hand. “And, frankly speaking, I’m three hundred years old. Nothing shocks me anymore. Now, let me see your face…”

The swelling had gone down, so she gave him two potions – one to heal him, and one to make him sleep. He drained both vials, and blessed darkness took him by the hand. When he woke, he had no idea where he was at first, but it was late and he was ravenous. Piece by piece, it started to come back, and he got up and stumbled down to the kitchen, where he found Nazir slathering butter on toasted bread.

“Do you ever sleep?”

“No. You, on the other hand, just slept for nearly sixteen hours.” Nazir pointed the knife at him. “Did you prove Papius’ paranoia legitimate?”

“He’s dead.” Emory padded over to the larder and opened it. “Fought like a sabrecat, but he’s dead.”

“Very good. I’ll make sure you get your payment.” Nazir was grinning when he turned around, hands full of apples and cheese. “Had a tough time, did we? Looks like the mill gave you more than a few splinters.”

Emory made a face at him. “I’m fine.”

“Let me guess. You tried the old ‘the Dark Brotherhood is after you, let me get you to safety’ gambit, and he wasn’t buying it.” Emory sat down and bit viciously into one of the apples, ignoring him. Juice ran down his chin. Nazir laughed. “I told you, boy. You lack subtlety. In our line of work, that’s a death sentence.”

Emory glared at him, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Cicero wears a full jester’s outfit. With _bells_.”

“Have you seen the clown fight?”

“Well, no, but – “

“When you can kill like that, you can do as you like.” Nazir scratched his beard. “Say what you want about Cicero. I do. But he wouldn’t have gotten himself beat within an inch of his life by an old miller.”

They finished their respective meals in stony silence. Emory looked away when Nazir stood, but the sudden weight of a hand on his shoulder made him flinch.

“A word of advice,” Nazir rumbled in his ear. “You give your secrets away too easily. Learn to play your cards right if you want to stay alive.”

He left, and Emory sat rigid, staring at the wall, cheese halfway to his lips. The phantom weight of Nazir’s palm burned like a brand against his skin.

\----------

Muiri was small and anxious and beautiful, and her hatred for her one-time lover was as bitter as the poisons she brewed. Emory felt an immediate kinship with her. He understood revenge. Revenge lead him to Windhelm, where he rented a fresh mount from the stables, and then Raldbthar, where Alain Dufont met a messy end, courtesy of the mounted crossbows on the upper level wall. _The Dwemer and their inventions._ He patted one, looking at the broken bodies of the bandits below. _If only all my contracts were in the ruins._

He arrived in Markarth early the following week, after midnight, and knocked gently on the door to the Hag’s Cure. Several minutes passed before the door opened a sliver, and moonlight fell across Muiri’s face, pale and stark. She let him in.

“I didn’t kill Nilsine,” he said.

She was silent for a moment. “Can I ask why not?”

“I brought you something.” He went out, and came back in toting a battleaxe, blade shimmering with old enchantments. The handle was carved with various Nordic runes. When Muiri saw it, she put a hand to her mouth, eyes welling up. Emory leaned Aegisbane carefully against the wall. “Maybe it’s not too late.”

“Why are you being so kind to me?” she whispered.

“I…”

His sister’s face floated accusingly in the back of his mind, tear-stricken and twisted with rage. _I never want to see you again!_

“Maybe it’s not too late,” he said again. “You never know.”

He exited the shop with her thanks still lingering in his ears, and a strange warmth settled like a mantle around his shoulders. Astrid was there to welcome him home when he returned, and invited him to eat with her while he recounted his tale. Her praise made him glow. Before she left, she lingered over him, eyes darting around the room. “I need to speak with you privately, little Brother.” He started to rise, but she shook her head. “Not now. Get some rest. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“Alright,” he agreed, intrigued, and she left him to his own devices. The dining chamber remained empty, and he finished his meal alone, wondering what had Astrid so concerned. Then again, she hadn’t seemed entirely herself since Cicero came to stay with them. No matter. He’d find out soon enough.

\----------

The hallway leading back to his quarters was darker than normal, no candles or torches lit to help guide the way. His foot caught on a piece of stone jutting up from the floor, and he stumbled. Strong hands steadied him.

“Welcome back.” Nazir was barely visible in the shadows, but his chest was warm, solid beneath Emory’s hands. His fingers skimmed the small of Emory’s back. “I see you’re in one piece.”

“Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Merely surprised.” It sounded like he was smiling. “You took out a group of bandits on your own, and somehow, you’re still standing.”

"See, it's the funniest thing," Emory said. “Those old ruins are full of traps. Sometimes, they go off at a moment’s notice.”

“Well, what do you know?” Nazir chuckled. “You might not be a lost cause after all.”

Their eyes met. Emory knew Nazir was dangerous, of course, and he would probably be better served by walking away. They were family, but they were a family of killers; it would be folly to think himself completely safe from harm. And yet, he found himself tilting his chin up, fingers curling loosely in the fabric of Nazir’s tunic. Nazir regarded him, and even in the dark, he looked amused. “You’re staring again.”

“Yes.”

His hand slid down, torturously slow, caressing Emory’s leather-clad thigh. “Have you learned nothing, boy?”

“I have.” He had to go up on tip-toe to wind his arms around Nazir’s neck, but he relished the startled jolt when their noses brushed, lips nearly touching. “Subtlety is overrated.”

Nazir barked out a laugh. His hands curled around the backs of Emory’s thighs and hoisted him up, until his legs were wrapped around Nazir’s waist, supporting his weight. “Incorrigible.” His smile was as wicked as the curve of his scimitar. “So, what is it? You clearly want something.”

“Kiss me,” Emory demanded, and Nazir bit his neck instead, lips soft and teeth sharp, making him gasp. It stung, but he immediately wanted more, skin tingling.

Nazir tugged at his earlobe. “You’ll get what you get when I decide to give it to you.” The words, laced with mockery, made him throb, and he ground himself against Nazir’s stomach shamelessly, breathing hitching. Nazir chuckled, his beard scratching against Emory’s cheek. “Like that, do you?”

“Don’t be such a smarmy git – “

Nazir muffled anything else he might have said with a kiss, surprisingly gentle. Emory didn’t want gentle. He growled, digging his blunt nails into the back of Nazir’s neck, and was rewarded with a warning bite to his lip that made him squirm, heat blooming low in his belly.

Nazir eyed him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were trying to provoke me.”

Emory bit his shoulder. “Take me to bed and find out.”

The faintest of groans escaped Nazir’s throat, hands tightening around Emory’s thighs, and Emory kissed him again, hard and triumphant. _He_ was the reason Nazir sounded like that. The very thought made him dizzy.

They made back to Nazir’s room, where Emory was dumped unceremoniously on the bed, Nazir looming over him. “Here you are.” Emory reached for him, but Nazir stepped out of reach, thumbs hooked in the band of his trousers. Each motion drew them lower on his hips. “Don’t get shy on me now. Use your words.”

“Fuck you,” Emory said, distracted. Nazir was hard. The outline was visible through his pants, pressing obscenely against the fabric. A wet spot was starting to form at the head. Emory chewed his sore lower lip, and a shiver ran through him.

Nazir laughed. “Ask nicely and I might.”

The thought of being seen naked sent a wave of panic washing over Emory like frigid water, gorge rising in his throat. He shook it off, scrambling onto his hands and knees.

“Let me suck you off.” Nazir paused, genuine surprise coloring his features before he could hide it. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that as a response, and his cock twitched. Emory peered up at him through his eyelashes, emboldened. “Please? I want to.”

“Do you now.” Nazir cupped himself thoughtfully, fingers massaging at his length. “Tempting…” His gaze drifted down to Emory’s mouth, dark and heated. “Planning on making it worth my while?”

“I want to,” he said again.

Nazir held out his hand, eyes half-lidded. “Come here.”

He wasn’t sure what he expected, or if he expected anything at all. His experience was limited, but he was no innocent, either. It was just another man’s cock. But it was also Nazir, and when he pulled his breeches down, Emory’s breath caught in his throat. He slid down to the floor. Nazir’s fingers tangled in his hair, guided him forward. The head was slick and salty against his tongue.

Nazir didn’t pull his hair, or try to force him to take more of it; his hand sat on Emory’s head, idly stroking his curls. It had been a while since he’d done this, and he gave himself a minute to adjust, lapping cautiously at the tip. Nazir shifted, but remained silent. Emory shuffled forward on his knees and braced his hands against Nazir’s thighs, rubbing his thumbs along the seam where they met his groin, and bobbed his head. More of Nazir’s cock slid into his mouth. It was a good size, thick without being too long, and he pulled back, suckling on the head. Nazir’s breathing stuttered, and when Emory’s tongue rubbed against the vein on the underside, he groaned softly, fingers tightening in Emory’s hair.

“Hey.” He pulled off of Nazir’s cock with a wet noise, lips and chin smeared with spit. It sounded gross, but the way Nazir was looking down at him made it worth it. “You don’t have to go so easy on me.”

Nazir smirked, stroked Emory’s temple with his thumb. “You couldn’t handle it.” His voice was soft, somewhere between threatening and suggestive.

“What happened to ‘you’ll get what you get when I decide to give it to you’?”

Nazir’s smirk widened. This time, he wasn’t gentle. His cock hit the back of Emory’s throat, making him gag. “Too much?”

Emory pulled off, eyes watering. “No,” he gasped, “no, keep going…”

His nails dug into Nazir’s thighs while the man held his head steady and fucked his mouth; shallow, rough thrusts that left him no time to catch his breath. His throat burned, vision blurring, and the ache between his legs was building with each passing moment, throbbing and wet. It felt filthy, to let someone use his mouth – to treat him like a toy – and he liked it. He let go of Nazir with one hand to fumble with his belt, and Nazir yanked his hair hard enough to make him moan.

“Who said you could touch yourself?” Emory froze, hand halfway down his pants, and Nazir slid even deeper, then out, torturously slow, until just the head of his cock rested on Emory’s swollen lips. “You like this that much?”

“Yeah.” It came out raspy. His fingers hovered inches above where he needed them most. “Tell me I can.”

Nazir inhaled, and the expression on his face sent a spike of lust directly down Emory’s spine. “Touch yourself for me, then. But.” A smile lingered over his mouth, sly. “You don’t come until I do. Got it?”

In lieu of an answer, Emory took him as far down his throat as he could.

Slick, sloppy sounds filled the room as Nazir fucked his face, spit dripping down his chin and tears in his eyes. He rocked into his own hand at the same time. There was no discernible rhythm, no grace to his movements, just senseless whimpering and grinding against his fingers as he fought to keep his orgasm at bay. Nazir had been silent for most of it, but as he picked up the pace, his breathing turned harsh. Emory’s knees were staring to hurt, but he ignored it, concentrating on breathing through his nose.

“Don't stop,” Nazir warned him, and the growl in his voice made Emory squirm. He redoubled his efforts, meeting Nazir’s thrusts until his nose was nearly touching the thatch of hair around the base of his cock. In response, Nazir fisted his hands in Emory’s hair, shoved him back against the side of the bed, and came down his throat with a long, low groan.

He tried to swallow, but he was sore and there was a lot of it. When Nazir slipped his cock free, come spilled over his lips and dripped down his chin. He knew he must look debauched, kneeling there, mouth swollen and throat bruised with the remains of Nazir’s orgasm on his face, and it was that image that gave him the final push. He came with a pained noise, stars bursting behind his eyelids and mind going pleasantly blank.

When the remaining ripples of pleasure washing over him began to recede, he realized he was sitting on the bed, and Nazir was wiping his face for him with a spare cloth. “I would have helped you with that,” he said, nodding at Emory’s unbuckled breeches.

It took Emory a minute to formulate a reply. “I’m fine." His voice was hoarse. He wondered how long it'd stay that way. "Don’t worry about it.”

Nazir looked at him, eyes flickering across his face, then nodded. “Another time.” He crumpled the cloth and tossed it aside, and then to Emory’s surprise, leaned in and kissed him, cupping his chin. “A new contract came in while you were gone.” The smirk was back. “A vampire named Hern. Owns Half-Moon Mill, not far from here. He and his mate have been snacking on one too many travelers. Think you’re up for the challenge?”

“I’m up for it.” He coughed, raw and scratchy, smiled ruefully. “Maybe in a day or two.”

“Good. We wouldn’t want you pushing yourself too hard, now would we?” Nazir chuckled, ran his thumb over the pulse pounding in Emory’s neck. “I’d say you earned some rest.”

"Aw, you really _do_ care."

"Don't push your luck."

"Pushing my luck is all I do." Emory tilted his chin up, baring his neck – less submission than a challenge. “Any tips for taking on a vampire?”

“The contract is only for Hern, but you’ll most likely have to deal with his mate as well. If you go during the day, you might catch them sleeping. But be careful, boy…” He ducked down without warning and sunk his teeth into the soft flesh of Emory’s throat, making him gasp. “They bite.”

**Author's Note:**

> Written in part for a prompt on the kink meme that wanted people to write more about their trans characters. This takes place during, but separate from, the events of The Book of Love; Emory is my smart-mouthed Breton assassin, and Evita's younger brother (the same Evita from The Vampire's Kiss, though a non-Dragonborn version of her). Though neither of them appear during TBoL, they are very much part of the canon.


End file.
